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| Flock of Molothrus ater and/or Molothrus aeneus; Silao, Guanajuato, Mexico. |
The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.
As it is written in the prophet Isaiah,
“See, I am sending my messenger ahead of you,
who will prepare your way;
the voice of one crying out in the wilderness:
‘Prepare the way of the Lord,
make his paths straight,’”
John the baptizer appeared in the wilderness, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. And people from the whole Judean countryside and all the people of Jerusalem were going out to him, and were baptized by him in the river Jordan, confessing their sins. Now John was clothed with camel’s hair, with a leather belt around his waist, and he ate locusts and wild honey. He proclaimed, “The one who is more powerful than I is coming after me; I am not worthy to stoop down and untie the thong of his sandals. I have baptized you with water; but he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit.”
In those days Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee and was baptized by John in the Jordan. And just as he was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending like a dove on him. And a voice came from heaven, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.”
-Mark 1:1-11
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He had a comb-over.
Thick glasses through which you could see him
always ready to crack a joke.
Short,
he always wore a whistle which bounced up and down on his belly when he laughed.
And
Whenever he saw me in the hallway,
he would always call me John.
(For those of you who don’t know: that’s not my name).
Mr. Keepers had been teaching at our high school for something like fifty years.
He was a living legend.
And at this point, honestly,
to command our respect,
he didn’t really need to remember our names.
Mr. Keepers had something much more valuable than those.
‘Cause Mr. Keepers had taught every aunt
and every uncle
I had ever had (on my Dad’s side).
He had taught them Gym!
He had been their wrestling coach.
And,
He had even taught them driver’s education (before they cut him off).
And because he had taught
and yelled at
and put into detention every [male] member of my dad’s side of the family,
Mr. Keepers (evidently), by my time, had earned the right to call everyone with my last name
By my uncle's first name.
So,
I, to Mr. Keepers,
was John.
And so would-be any Gaulke’s who would follow after me,
if they went to that high school,
and if they ran into Mr. Keepers in the hall.
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John.
Annoying as it was to all of us,
Mr. Keeper’s misnomers were still
just kind of funny.
Something you put up with from a teacher who’s been around for, like, 50 years. Right?
He wasn’t being malicious.
I’m pretty sure he didn’t even know he was doing it.
He was just being Uncle John’s coach.
Or Uncle Vic’s drivers’ ed. instructor..
Or my dad’s teacher for gym.
He was just being Mr. Keepers.
And whatever Mr. Keepers called us,
we weren’t bound to be my uncle.
We didn’t all become “John.”
Despite his re-naming of us, we were pretty free to become whoever it was were gonna come to be, in high school and beyond.
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Yes, Mr. Keeper’s misnomers were kind of funny.
But,
What do we do with all of those other names?
The ones handed to us by other folks who are, let’s say, less endearing?
Ones with a bit more sting than “John.”
What do we do with those names?
What do we do with the names that shame us? That lock us up through fear? Or Embarrassment? Or literally behind bars?
What do we do with the names that have come to define who we are when maybe we don’t really wanna be that person anymore? Or when we’re more than that name, but our name, it seems, is all that anyone else will ever see in us?
Names can become traps.
“Oh, she’s that social justice freak. Alway angry about something. I don’t think she even knows how to turn that stuff off, honestly.”
“He’s such a religious nut. Head in the clouds. No common sense. He must be hiding from something.”
“He’s an ex-con you know. I here he did all kinds of crazy things. I’m surprised they even let him come around this place. I heard he...”
“She had a messy divorce. Oh man. I won’t even tell you what people are saying about that.”
“She’s a S.L.U.T”
“...a B-word.”
“He an alcoholic.” “An addict.” “A bum.”
She’s “Crazy.” “Unstable.”
“Homeless.” “Ignorant.” “Dumb.”
Insert racial slur here _____.
She’s “The responsible one.”
He’s the screw up.
“Their an old dog who’ll never learn new tricks.”
“Set in their ways.”
“Out of his mind.”
“Too smart for his own good.”
Names
come
To define us.
Sometimes, in moments of vulnerability,
We might even start to believe that we are the names we have been given. That they do define us.
That they are “who we are.”
Sometimes, in moments of deception,
We believe that to be “good” we should live up to our name!
Or be ashamed that it is what it is, that we have a bad name, that our name is mud.
Names can be traps.
And we can become stuck in them.
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Since at least the third century,
There has been a tradition throughout Christendom,
That when a new Christian was baptized, often that person,
at baptism, would receive a new,
“Christian” name.
In the 4th or 5th century, it was common enough of a practice that St. John Chrysostom gave the church some practical advice. “Pick the name of good Christian!” he reprimanded parents who seemed to him not to be taking the rite seriously. “Pick a name of one who cared for the poor.” “Don’t just make grandpa happy by picking his name. What’s Christian about that? We all know you’re grandpa,” John taught.
Baptism isn’t about tickling egos Chrysostom reminded the Church.
But it is about being freed from the names that have come to define and confine us to new possibilities for what might yet be.
A new creation. A new name. New possibility.
A new embodiment in Christ.
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Today is the first Sunday after the Epiphany.
The three kings (the magi),
According to the Christian calendar,
they all showed up yesterday.
At the manger:
“He’s gonna be a king,” they say to his mom. Gold, frankincense, myrrh. The whole nine yards.
“The messiah!”
“He will restore… everything.”
Even the angels get into it. “The Prince of Peace!” “Immanuel!” And so on.
People really put their hopes in this kid.
And today, which in liturgical time is thirty years later--the church calendar moves very quickly--at the Jordan river, with the baptizer John,
people are filled with hope again.
Is this actually the lamb of God who comes to make us free?
To take away our sin?
Is this the one who is greater than John the Baptizer?
Is he the fulfillment of my every dream?
Who is this Jesus?
All of Jerusalem was talking.
“I heard he’s the Messiah. The one Herod was looking for.”
“He’s a Refugee.”
“A Nazarene--Can anything good come out of Nazareth?”
“I think he’s Unclean.”
“Isn’t he Mary’s son?”
“The Josephson kid?”
“Or so they say. That whole birth seems pretty mysterious to me.”
(They all had different theories),
Jesus was already hearing all of them.
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But, wading in the water,
Before he is pushed out into the wilderness that will become his public ministry,
Jesus takes a moment to look up into the sky.
No lighting. No thunder.
But Jesus sees a bird.
And in this dove, Jesus sees God the Holy Spirit.
God the bird reminds him:
“Whatever is in any of those names.
The ones you have been called, beloved,
They do not define you.
You are not responsible for the magi’s expectations or even John’s.
You are my child, beloved. And in all that you are called, you are always above and beyond any label and any name.”
And so with this freedom from his name, and from all the names that would seek to confine and define him throughout his time on earth,
the beloved Child was ready to begin his mission and his call.
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A name can be a trap.
No doubt each of us has been snagged and nicked and bruised by many traps.
Whatever we have been called, whatever we have called ourselves, beloved,
there is always a bird on the wire somewhere outside the window,
Somewhere outside the human mess, or in the midst of it,
There’s always a bird somewhere to remind us about God the Holy Spirit.
Reminding us that God calls us more and God calls us beyond the ways we have been defined, limited, or controlled.
God calls us Child. And God calls us God’s Beloved.
Regardless of the Magi, Regardless of Mr. Keepers,
regardless of every bully or politician or priest or ex- or so on and so forth.
Contrary to what racists, sexist, classist, homophobic, fatalist teachings and systems and ideologies would have us to believe.
Whatever we have been called, whatever we’ve called ourselves,
there is no limit, in Christ, to how we might yet be reformed,
And to where we still might go.
And so we remember each time we see a puddle or a bird
that each day we are made new.
And each day brings possibility to live as beloved,
to transgress all that would confine or oppress us,
and that every name, by grace, can be left in the river as we begin again and again and again.
Amen.
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